


Church Bells: Sam’s Lament

by chaosgirl93



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, At the end anyway, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Child Neglect, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kid Sam Winchester, Oblivious Dean Winchester, POV First Person, POV Sam Winchester, Religious Fanaticism, Sam Winchester is So Done, The Author Regrets Everything, Traditionalism is Dangerous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 19:34:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19951684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosgirl93/pseuds/chaosgirl93
Summary: Was up late thinking about the Sam in the Cage Enochian thing, and my own worst fear of inability to communicate with anyone but my abusive dad, and wrote this Supernatural AU instead of sleeping. It’s Sam as a kid, first-person perspective, age 10. John Winchester’s still an asshole, but in this AU he’s a bad traditionalist Catholic dad, a sedevacantist “Warrior for God” who hunts out of a need to protect the world from demons, not a faithless hunter who’s hunting the thing that killed his wife.





	Church Bells: Sam’s Lament

**Author's Note:**

> I always thought it was interesting how Sam was so good with the Latin exorcisms, and I was always intrigued by the fics regarding the Cage where Michael and Lucifer insist on Enochian, and Sam’s reaction is just to learn it and not worry about it, to escape extra punishment, even though Lucifer’s just going to torture him no matter what. The situation, to me, always seems like he’s been forced to speak only in a dead language before. Which is something I can absolutely believe John Winchester would do to have a powerful exorcist/summoner on his team, regardless of the boy’s own needs, at least until Sam reached "so done" and did something about it. It also didn’t make sense to me that he only ever laid hands on Dean, but Sam was the one who fled at eighteen. Easy tie-up? John abused Sam psychologically, which meant when he dealt with the archangels, it was just an older language, but the same old shit. So enjoy John’s Traveling Cage.

I knew I shouldn’t have let Dad anywhere near me if I could help it. I knew I shouldn’t have gone with him to the Traditional Latin Mass at the Catholic church in the next town over that weekend when we didn’t have a hunt and my brother was too hurt from the last one to leave the motel room. I know I should have intentionally had a fit. I know I certainly shouldn’t have said absolutely nothing, and kept going with him, in every town where we could find a traditional parish on Sunday.

I knew I shouldn’t have helped him with a demon hunt. I knew I should have put up a fight when he gave me a notebook full of Latin exorcisms and old Catholic prayers “in case there’s another demon attack” and “to freak out everyone during morning prayer time at your schools”. I knew I should have turned around and given the thing to Bobby with the story of how I got it the next time Dad left us. 

I know when a demon descended on one of my schools, I shouldn’t have gotten rid of him so confidently. I should have gone to the school chaplain’s office, told her about it, advised her to call a proper exorcist, and taken cover in the chapel with the rest of my year. Even though Dad woulda killed me for passing up an easy hunt.

I should have known Pastor Jim wouldn’t believe me. I should have called Bobby from the nearest phone as soon as I saw that blasted notebook. But I didn’t. 

And when he asked if dead languages set me off, I should have lied to him. Lying is literally a child’s only weapon against adults with half a heart. To well-intentioned extremists and moral Knights Templar, children have no weapons or shields. I couldn’t have done much, besides calling Bobby and telling my brother what was going on.

Dad wouldn’t have cared anyway. He had been dragged down the traditionalist Catholic rabbit hole, was a hunter out of loyalty to his God who attended the TLM every Sunday he could find one, and was an obsessive religious man trying to purify his son and prepare him to fight demons. A well-intentioned moral guardian or religious purifier is far more dangerous than any evil alignment. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

I got frustrated by the devotions and rituals he dragged me into, and the stupid Mass every damn week that my brother didn’t have to attend because he was doing a supply run, and the dumb rosary Dad made us both pray with him every damn night, and not understanding any of it. I found translations for all the stupid prayers, and I did what I had to with what I could find to stem the need I have to understand everything. This only made things worse. I knew I shouldn’t have given in and done that. I shouldn’t have let it get to me. At least it proved I can do good research in a pinch.

And when my brother asked, I shouldn’t have given him a false war story from fifth grade, excused the object Dad gave me as a comfort item I got from Bobby's while looking for treasure in his study as a little kid that reminded me of before and that I wore it in a vain attempt to calm, and told him I couldn’t really control the results of that battle with a traditionalist Catholic schoolteacher at the religious school we attended once. 

I shouldn’t have told him that having my theology class with Mrs. Connor rather than Mr. Mendez meant I learned a lot more than theology, and it was like trying to deal with Minerva that one time Dad thought it was a salt-and-burn and we somehow wound up dealing with a pagan god instead. I mean, the woman sounded like an ancient Roman girl, and I really wonder what the hell the situation was… That wasn’t true, and I shouldn’t have spouted it to my brother.

I should have told someone. I should have told one of the school counselors, the local police somewhere, the state CPS somewhere we stopped, hell even just one of the sitters. But I was broken, I was scared, and I was embarrassed that I had let it happen. And I didn’t want to think about it. I mean, it was only in ritual settings, knowing what I was saying made it easier, and no one really had to know. 

We had a “ritual object” we used. It was this little pink rosary he would hang around my neck when he needed me to “speak only in purity” as he says. I didn’t mind. A trigger object kept me from freaking out by helping me compartmentalize things. Plus, I could take it off if anyone showed up and then I wouldn’t have to think about what could have been heard. Removing it didn't seal anything away, just frees me of blocks. So I'm still good dealing with demons without it.

That stupid rosary only made things worse. He at first only put it on me when we were shut up in closets for our devotions, and when we went to church gatherings at all the different churches we’ve been in, so I could impress the clergy while he talked to the other parishioners. Then he said I was stilted during our work and he had me always wear it around him for practice. Eventually, he stopped caring if my brother or our sitters heard. I always had to wear that damn thing and follow the communication rules that went with it in the motel rooms and the car. 

Then he started to worry that I might tell one of the schools I didn’t like it. At the time, I could still communicate, though archaically, because he was always around, so I wasn’t even planning to tell. But he still decided I would be imprisoned by that stupid pink trigger while at school as well. The only time it comes off is when we go out somewhere people might stare, and trad occultists or elderly clergymen are likely to understand me, possibly pull me aside and ask if I want some help, and call CFS over a child who’s being neglected by parental failure to teach useful communication. 

He doesn’t care about the schools or the motels or anywhere not in public, because if no one understands me I can’t explain the rosary and ask someone to call the authorities, and I can’t talk to the authorities anyway like this. My brother once got CFS called by one of our schools for something else. The CFS worker came to the school to talk to both of us, while I was wearing the rosary.

He turned out to be an old academic with a background in ancient Roman history before his social work. He told me such. I whispered to him something meaning “My dad will be furious if he knows that we understand each other.”

Nothing came of the investigation, and he told me since academia could still understand me, he couldn’t even record it as a parental failure to teach any standard communication under child neglect laws. (I didn’t tell him about the rosary or that I was fine when it came off.) 

I fell behind because I couldn’t do my work. I got sent to Counseling. It didn’t help because Dad was right, I couldn’t tell anyone anything. Things just got worse when my brother found out and I had to use my allowed ten minutes before bed without the damn trigger on me to write out a fake war story about how our worst school ever scarred me a lot more than him, to give him, explaining why I could only really control it in extremely public places, where the stares overwhelmed the damage done to my mind by Mrs. Connor’s theology room. 

Then with a war story written in my own hand and signed by me, Dad is able to dismiss stares from our sitters, and keep them from calling the authorities for me when we get left behind, by passing around the war story and always taking the thing off before leaving us. He slips it into my pocket though, because he wants us to continue the stupid prayers while he’s gone and my brother doesn’t carry one.

He knew no one would ever help me.

I snuck into the water closet and slipped that damn pink rosary off and hung it on the door, ready to throw it back on if he comes in, so I could write this. By the time anyone gets it. I probably won’t understand it, I’ll just know it was important I give it to someone with the power to do something. 

There was nothing anyone would do for Dean about the bruises. Yeah, I know about that. I just put on an innocent face for my poor big brother. This time, is there nothing that anyone will do?

I wonder why no one asks about the damn rosary. Guys my age don't tend to wear them, especially pink ones. Carry one, maybe. But I'm surprised no one's said anything. At this point, I want to convince Bobby it’s a hunting tool, so he’ll steal it off me next time Dad leaves us there, the way he always hides hunting gear we bring there, because I don’t want it. 

Dad says this will make it easier to get rid of demons, and do spellwork. He says this is because I need this to be able to remember, unlike my brother. He doesn’t care about my brother as long as he can manage an exorcism, but I have to be the one that always sounds like an old priest despite being only ten. I always have to be the one who learns everything well. My brother is the physically strong one, so I have to be a stereotypical academic. 

I intend to somehow ditch the rosary. I’m going to lose it “by accident” wherever we go next. If we go to a sitter, I’ll take it off, tell him it’s a demon hunting tool, and ask if I can have it in bed. It'll get taken off me and lost somewhere, I'm sure. That's what happened to two of our knives at Bobby's. If we go on a hunt, I’ll slip it off, drop it in some mud, and not say a word until we leave town. That worked for getting rid of a ruined jacket I didn't want to carry around.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting anything I've written, so please be gentle.


End file.
